


The three states of Dwalin, son of Fundin, when in his cups

by Saraste



Series: Nwalin week 2019 [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Groping, Drinking, Erebor Reclaimed, Established Relationship, M/M, Nwalin week 2019, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19028854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Three things happen when Dwalin, son of Fundin, is deep in his cups.





	The three states of Dwalin, son of Fundin, when in his cups

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nwalin week 2019, day 4. ~~food~~ /drink. Beta-read by the never-tiring katajainen. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Dwalin was never as handsy as when he was in his cups.

Nori did not mind a bit, he was himself handsy enough for both of them, the rest of the time, and it would have been enough for him, to be sure. It wasn’t as if Dwalin did not touch him when he was sober - he did, letting his big steady fingers roam across Nori’s body in the privacy of their rooms, that was, making Nori forget all else but him, touching him inside and out, breaking him and putting him back together again, after. Sometimes Dwalin was bold enough to draw Nori against his side in intimate company, where  _ anyone _ could see, but that was common closeness, not handsiness, and Nori tried to curb his own wandering hands. When he remembered to do so, of course.

But the point of it was that enough ale or spirits got Dwalin getting handsy with Nori in public, sometimes even a little past the point of decency. And Nori didn’t even encourage him by angling his body this way or that, or casting come-fuck-me-looks, or - as Dori was always telling him - asking for Dwalin to put his hands on his person, lest Nori perish for the lack of his touch. Well, not _much_ , at least. His base nature was flirtation, and being wed to someone as handsome, big and _his_ , as Dwalin, Nori couldn’t really be blamed for wanting it, wanting _him,_ now could he? Even so much so as to flaunt delicacy and throw decorum out of the proverbial window. And possibly letting Dwallin drink more than he ought, even when he had promised to make sure Dwalin didn’t, because Dwalin was actually aware of his problem. Nori tried, to be sure, but he sometimes forgot. Quite accidentally, too. Maybe sometimes he even pushed his own drink into Dwalin’s hand, quite by accident. Dwalin always did forgive him.

There was another facet to Dwalin’s drunken amorousness, besides his wandering hands; he began to recite  _ poetry _ . 

And not just any kind of poetry, no. No ballads of great deed and kings and dwarrows, of past glories, for him, delivered with a tankard of ale in hand when the drink had stoked his blood, no, that was not Dwalin’s way. Instead, he waxed lyrical nonsense rhymes about Nori’s “bouncy handful of booty just right for these hands” and the “wondrous bounty” Nori’s derriere possessed, which Dwalin was always ready to “plunder with great vigour and vim.”

If Nori had been a moreprivate person where sex and the intimate parts of his body were concerned, it might have been embarrassing, but he was of the opinion that if you got it, flaunt it, even if it was your spouse describing what a handful of Nori’s ass felt like in his big hands before he “plundered” him, or expounded on what said “plundering” felt like. 

Well, there was one thing Nori might have been embarrassed about, if he’d let himself. Because while Dwalin’s sentiments regarding Nori’s “glorious globes” (Dwalin’s words on their fifth Durin’s Day Feast on the mountain, when Dwalin almost tumbled down from the table he had risen to stand upon to give “An Ode to Booty”, and would have fallen, had he not dragged Nori up with him to grope his ass before the whole gathered feast to illustrate his verse; Nori had barely kept him upright) were sound, his wording was… actually a bit embarrassing if one thought about it too much. If one cared for such things. And maybe Nori did, a little itty bit. Enough to shut Dwalin up, with a kiss if feasible, when he got too flowery and verbose.

With the groping and waxing lyrical, Dwalin in his cups should have been a recipe for a quick exit into their chambers or any available empty corridor for an enthusiastic bout of sex where Dwalin murmured his poetry into Nori’s ear as he fucked him, really, save for the third thing that always happened when Dwalin was deep into his cups and stumbling drunk.

He fell asleep the moment he stopped moving.


End file.
